At first he thought nothing of it. When he found that he had not to encounter the terrible eyes of Mrs. Majendie, Mr. Gorst's relief was so great that it robbed him of reflection. And when he began to think, he merely thought that Majendie had asked him because his wife was absent, rather than that Majendie's wife was absent because he had been asked. Majendie had calculated on this. He was not in the least distressed by Anne's absences. He believed that she was thoroughly enjoying both her own protest and Mrs. Eliott's society. And the arrangement really solved the problem nicely. Otherwise the whole thing was trivial to him. He remained unaware of the tremendous spiritual conflict that was being waged round the person of the unhappy Gorst. But Christmas was now at hand and Christmas brought the problem back again in a terrific form. For ten years poor Gorst had dined with his friends in Prior Street on Christmas Day. His presence was considered by Edith to borrow a peculiar significance and sanctity from the festival. Did they not celebrate on that day the birth of the Divine Humanity, the solemn advent of redeeming love? Punctually on Christmas Day the prodigal returned from his farthest wanderings, and made for Prior Street as for his home. He had never missed a Christmas. And how could they expel him now? His coming was such a sacred and established thing, that he had spoken of it to Edith as a certainty. And it was as a certainty that Edith spoke of it to Majendie. She asked him how they were to break the news to Anne. "Better not break it at all," said he. "Just let him come." "If he does," said Edith, "she'll walk straight out of the house." "Oh no, she won't." "Yes, she will. On principle. I understand her." "I confess I don't." "But I believe," said she, "if you explained it all to her, she'd give in for once." Rather against his judgment, he endeavoured to explain, "We simply can't not ask him, you know." "Ask him by all means. But I shall have to put myself on the Gardners, or the Proctors, for the Eliotts are away." "Don't be absurd. You know you won't be allowed to do anything of the sort." "There's nothing else left for me to do." He looked at her gravely; but his speech was light, for it was not in him to be weighty. "Don't you think that, at this holy season, for the sake of peace, and good-will, and all the rest of it, you might drop it just for once? And let the poor chap have a happy Christmas?" She seemed to be considering it. "You think me very hard," said she. "Oh no, no, not hard." But he was wondering for the first time what this wife of his was made of. "Yes, hard. I don't want you to think me hard. If you could understand why I cannot meet that man--what it means to me--the effect it has on me." "What," he said, "is the precise effect?" He was really interested. He had always been curious to know how different men affected different women, and to get his knowledge at first hand.